The Flying Boys in the Sky

by Edward Sylvester Ellis

He petted him a few minutes longer, when the canine turned about and trotted back to the house. There he scratched upon the door and whined until it was opened from within and he passed out of sight.

“Considered from my point of view,” said the detective grimly, “that dog is a model guardian of a house, but those who expect vigilance from him probably hold a different opinion.”

Nothing could be gained by remaining where he was, for all he could see was the shadowy outline of a tumble-down log cabin and a few scattered outbuildings. It was necessary to gain a look at the interior. The cheap faded curtains at the front windows shut out any view, but he was hopeful of success from the rear. He made a careful circuit of the building, keeping at a goodly distance until he reached a point opposite to that which he had first held. Then he began stealing forward. Before doing so, he noticed that neither of the rear windows possessed anything in the nature of a curtain. He had only to come close to them to see everything in the room where the light was burning.

Now that the dog was out of the way, even with his friendly disposition, the detective felt no apprehension, unless there might be some one on guard—a thing improbable—or a member of the company should draw near from the direction followed by himself.

The yellow rays of a tallow candle, aided by the moonlight, which had partial sway on this side of the cabin, made the task easy for Pendar. He crept steadily forward until under one of the windows, when he rose to his feet, just far enough to peer over the sill. Even before doing so, he was troubled by a misgiving. Something in all this experience was out of keeping with the character of a band of kidnappers.

The detective’s position could not have been more favorable, for the face of no one was turned toward the window, where he might have been discovered. What he saw was this:

Evidently the evening meal had been kept waiting to so late an hour in order to accommodate the last arrival, who was an old man, seated at the head of a plain deal table without cover, and with only several of the plainest dishes of food. Opposite at the farther end, sat the wife, a bulky, gray-haired, slatternly woman, presiding over the teapot and a few of the minor articles of food. The huge dog was sleeping on the floor near the hearth. On the side of the table, with her back toward the wall, sat a little girl, probably five or six years old, eating from a bowl of bread and milk. She was continually chattering, so that her profile was often shown to Pendar, whose heart sank within him upon the first good look at her features.

She was not Grace Hastings. The detective carried a cabinet picture of the stolen child with whose face he was as familiar as with that of his own child. It showed a chubby, comely little girl, with abundant curly hair, almost black. The one before him had straight, scant yellow hair and her face was thin, as if from recent illness. It would be hard to picture two children of tender years so different in appearance.

Something in the looks of the head of the family was familiar, and it took the officer but a few moments to identify him. You will recall Uncle Tommy, the famous local prophet, who told Harvey Hamilton what kind of weather to expect, when he descended at Chesterton. The man was Uncle Tommy and the others were his wife and child, or possibly a grandchild.

Detective Pendar gave utterance to a forceful exclamation, for he was filled with rage and chagrin. He would have made affidavit a few minutes before, and at any time after his talk with the young aviator, that he had located the headquarters of the gang of kidnappers, with the recovery of the stolen child only a question of a few hours.